


The Lonely Road

by Halighfataliter



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Angst, Demoted Mustang, Gen, Guilt, Team Mustang - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 22:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halighfataliter/pseuds/Halighfataliter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Roy wished he could find words to explain this vast expanse of frozen land."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lonely Road

The grandfather clock hanging above the counter ticked thirteen minutes after eleven. Ol’Dick, the owner of Arsko ‘s only pub, grunted affectionately.  
  
« Your boys will be arriving, Mustang. »  
  
Roy nodded and pushed away from his seat. He found coins in the pocket of his uniform and tossed them on the counter with a clang. A single coin spun madly on the dark wood, catching faint rays of light in its dance before bumping against Roy’s abandoned glass and falling dully on its side. Sorrow and regret stilled Roy for a moment, like the ache of an old bruise as memories of burning eyes and a filthy mouth filtered through his mind.  
  
Mustang closed the lapels of his thick coat and tugged the fur hat on top of his head. This was not the time to be thinking about Ed; it always made him feel maudlin. Breda and Havoc would certainly notice and he had no doubt everything would be reported back to Central. So with one last look at the shiny coins, Roy shouldered the door open and dove into the cold.  
  
The wind was blowing hard outside, wet and stinging despite the clear sky. The snow was dense and sticky under his feet and Roy trudged slowly through the streets of the town. Arsko was too remote a place for the train station to be far, Roy could see its sturdy red roof peaking over the row of small houses in front of him and as he neared his destination, Roy felt an unpleasant knot of anxiety weave itself in the pit of his stomach. For a second Roy resented this, the cold, the distance, his demons, for spoiling the easy bond he had once had with his men. He knew they did not understand, the sting of betrayal almost tangible in the shadow of their words, _why, why did you leave_. And how could he fault them when even he sometimes lost sight of himself amidst the lies and the deceit.  
  
Not for the first time, Roy wished he could find words to explain this vast expanse of frozen land. He thought of being twenty and haunted, downing hard liquor with crazed eyes. He thought of being thirty and crying under the rain, kissing cool lips and then the warm cradle of a woman’s flesh. He thought of sleepless nights and hard work and guilt so thick he thought he would choke on it.  
  
He wished he could tell them of being wrong, so very wrong and that the grief never went away. It had come back with a vengeance, a hungry beast.  
  
He wished he could tell them of waking up every morning, in a cabin cold and pale with light and muttering misty prayers to a faceless God.  
  
He wished he could tell them of long days and simple duties and feeling weary and old but peaceful for the first time many years.  
  
But then, he wished for many things. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Survivor's Guilt".


End file.
